A Dragon Expendable
by Ramzes
Summary: Too many dragons were just as dangerous as too few, King Daeron II said. Does everyone agree? Chapter 3): Elaena
1. Mariah

**A Dragon Expendable**

The King entered his bedchambers on tiptoes. He knew his Queen was sunken into a heavy sleep by the milk of poppy but still, he did not want to take the slightest chance to disturb her. He was sorry that he hadn't managed to see her awake today but there had been indeed things that needed his own attention. Baelor did whatever he could to relieve him of any duties, letting him spend as much time with Mariah as possible but there were still some affairs of state that needed the King's attention, not the Hand's.

To his surprise, the great candelabrum in the bottom of the bedchamber was still burning. Mariah looked up from the bed she was half-lying in. "You're here," she said. "At last."

His delighted surprise that she had waited for him, instead of taking the potion, didn't last. He recognized the parchment she was holding… and he recognized the wrath behind her dark eyes. He hadn't seen it in years. "I see you know," he said.

Mariah tossed the parchment aside as if it was going to burn her. It fluttered in the air and fell on the floor next to the bed. "When were you going to tell me?" she asked. "Or did you mercifully intended to wait for me to die? Surely you must have known that _I would never let this come to pass_?"

She was obviously looking for a fight and this time, Daeron was more than happy to oblige her. The mentioning of her forthcoming death ate at him like a gaping wound. She was truly dying, he knew it. And he could not forgive anyone who told him that, including Mariah herself. "Do you think I need your permission?" he asked coldly. "I've let you too many liberties, my lady, but let's be clear: it's I who rule in the Red Keep and not you."

The blood drained from her face. In this moment, he sounded just like his father, her hated goodfather. The man had recently started visiting her in her worst nightmares.

Daeron looked at her pallid cheeks, the white-blue hands, the rings that dug so cruelly in her bloated fingers that they could never be taken off, and regretted the sharpness of his bite.

"It pains me as well, Mariah," he said, his tone gentler now. He sat on the bed and reached for her hand that she pulled away angrily. "But I cannot see a better way. Too many dragons are just as dangerous as too few."

She hissed like a Dornish snake, her eyes glittering. "Oh spare me, Daeron! All this dragon talk might work for your Small Council but don't you _dare_ pull this particular wool over my eyes. If you see them as dragons alone, I pity you. It's my grandchildren we're talking about!"

Of course she would not let this one go unchallenged. Daeron hated his fights with her because she was the most dangerous enemy, the one who knew where to hit to cause most pain. Of course, he was doing the same to her as well… Sending Aemon away was as cruel a blow as he could deal her. He cursed his carelessness in leaving the letter in their bedchamber where she could read it easily. But she had never stooped so low before!

"My grandchildren as well, Mariah," he reminded her and sighed. Maybe he should try honesty this time. "You know I love him as much as you do. But there are too many of them."

"And I adore them all, from Valarr to Rhae!" she cut him off.

"And you think I don't?!"

She didn't answer.

Daeron paled under the weight of her mistrust. She had never, never doubted him before.

"I don't know," Mariah finally murmured, her anger gone, leaving only the heavy shade of doubt and eyes filled with pained disbelief. "I am listening to you and I can't believe it's you that I'm hearing. Daeron, that's what your father used to say about _us_, don't you remember? How it would be better if the babe died because it would clearly be another son, as incapable as I was in producing daughters? Who needed four sons in line for the Iron Throne?" She drew a shaking breath. "Were you thinking the same?"

"What?" he asked, the idea so ridiculous that he couldn't even comprehend what she was asking.

Her eyes glinted at him, her body tensed like that of a defensive cat. "Were you hoping that the next babes would die?" she asked. "When did you decide that I've given you enough _dragons_ and we really didn't need another one? As early as Rhaegel? Or did you wait until I announced that I was expecting Maekar? Which one of our sons was as expendable as Aemon is?"

He rose and started pacing the chamber, unable to look at her. She couldn't really believe that he–? Of course, it was only a battle tactic to make him reconsider. What if it wasn't?

Mariah had fallen silent too. He could feel her eyes following him but it looked like the outburst had drained her too much. She held out a shaking hand, reaching for the goblet at her bedside but when he came near, she shook her head, refusing his help.

"You're taking away his future, Daeron," she finally said, her tone more controlled. "The maesters of the Citadel… they only serve. They have no life of their own. They take no wife, father no children. I know this isn't the fate you want for him."

_It isn't_, he screamed in his head but replied calmly, evenly, "I am doing this so he can be guaranteed a future, Mariah. He and the rest of them. He is smart and talented. He loves books and treasures knowledge. He won't feel bad there..."

She huffed disdainfully.

Daeron came back to the bed but this time he knew better than reaching for her or sitting down. "Do you remember when I first became king? You advised me to take Blackfyre away from Daemon and give him lands as far away from King's Landing as possible. I didn't heed you and the realm bled. I won't make the same mistake. Never again."

That did not convince her either. "Don't you dare compare my grandson to that boy!" she burst out, her fury hot once again. "Aemon doesn't have a vain and ambitious bone in his entire body while Daemon was all for showing off and gaining more and more yet. And if you regret not heeding my advice then, heed it now: _don't do it_."

His silence was enough of an answer. She shrunk there, before his eyes. Her mouth started trembling, her hands rose to her eyes to hide the tears she would not let him see.

Never had the crown weighed him down as hard as when he left his bedchamber, leaving there only the silence of Mariah muffling her sobs against the pillow.

* * *

><p><strong>A. N. This is meant to be a short series of oneshots and I might even succeed in keeping it this way, who knows. Anyway, I think that'll be my last upload for this year. Many thanks for every present – I mean, review – you gave me this year. See you soon. Merry Christmas!<strong>


	2. Baelor

**Many thanks for the reviews!**

A Dragon Expendable

_Baelor_

"Spring is coming," Baelor said absent-mindedly when his father entered the solar he had been waiting him in.

Daeron looked at him with surprise. "It is?"

Startled, Baelor realized that the question was a serious one. In the gloomy magnificence of the Red Keep, one could easily lose sight on what was happening inside. Daeron hardly ever left it unless his presence was required for matters of state and when he did, he barely paid attention to his surroundings. "Yes," Baelor said. "It is. Actually, Rhae made me promise that tonight, I'd look for the first snowdrop around here."

Daeron bit back a smile. Baelor looked confused, like a man who didn't know how he had found himself in his current predicament. While he had gotten along with Daenerys splendidly most of the time while growing up, he had had no experience with little girls since he had become a man grown and his susceptibility to his nieces' charm could still surprise him. It felt comforting to Daeron to know that he wasn't the only one his granddaughters could sway into anything. Less foolish.

"How is Mother?" Baelor asked, his levity gone.

Daeron sighed. "There's been no change. You'll visit her tonight, I expect?"

"Of course I will." Baelor paused. "So, what did you call me for?"

Daeron took a seat at the table and started aligning the books he had left all over the shining dark surface, postponing the moment of truth for as long as he could. "I intend to send Aemon to the Citadel," he finally said and looked at his son expectantly.

Baelor smiled. "He'll be thrilled. You couldn't come up with a better nameday present."

The words tugged at Daeron's heart with a new sharp pain. A long time ago, when he had been Aemon's age, he had dreamed of visiting the Citadel and spent some time there. Would he have been happy as a maester? Some aspects of such a life of learning and using his knowledge for good purposes did hold a certain appeal and yet he wouldn't trade Mariah and his family with her for the fate of a maester. "You didn't get my meaning, Baelor," he said. "I am not sending him there on a visit. I intend to give him over to the maesters. Have him become one."

Baelor flinched but regained control almost immediately. Daeron sighed and poured some wine for both of them. Baelor's eyes widened when his father drained his goblet at once. He took a sip of his own wine. "Why?" he finally asked.

"You know why," Daeron replied.

Baelor shook his head. "No, not that. Why now? Is it really so important to do it in such a hurry?" _Or do it at all_, he wanted to ask. As far as he was concerned, Aemon was a nephew he'd rather keep. Now, it they could pack Aerion off for somewhere instead…

"Yes, it is," the King replied, rising from his seat to go to the window. "Either I will do it now, or you'll have to do it later."

The thought of finding himself saddled with such a duty was repulsive to Baelor but he could see where his father was coming from. To his shame, he felt profoundly grateful that Daeron was saving him the potential making of such a decision, telling Aemon that he'd decided that he was expendable, his future sacrificed, suffering the inevitable problems with Maekar… And still, and still… Out of all the young dragons, Aemon was the least likely one to cause any trouble of the kind they feared. But then, _I never thought that Daemon would do anything to undermine Father's throne either_, Baelor remembered. Maybe he just wasn't very good at predicting how people he cared for would turn out. Surely removing a potential threat out of his own sons' way should be a good thing? It didn't feel like it. Even his relief had a shameful tinge to it. "But we cannot afford any more grave mistakes," he finished aloud and Daeron nodded.

"He won't feel this bad there," Baelor said, not quite certain that this would be the case. "He's the brightest among them all. He thirsts for knowledge. He's a bright boy and I remember he could write decent stories to amuse the girls when he was five."

All of a sudden, Daeron smiled wickedly. "Here," he said. "I want to show you something."

He went to a cabinet and started leafing through the meticulously sorted documents. With years, he had amassed quite the number of cherished parchments and now he gave one to Baelor who looked at him, bewildered, but started reading anyway. His bewilderment grew. This was clearly some kind of list, written by a small child decades ago. _Dont talk to me as if I am stupid I andastant everyting. I know you want to sing but I just want to sleep. Give me my shuus I can put dem on myself. Cant I go araund stripped? Cloting is irksam. Dont pull your hair ander the cap. Give it to me. I wont eat bread in milk. I want a blad orange. Barefut. Yes. I wil not safer shoos.__ Whai dont you sleep when I sleep? You shud rest because soon you wont have the chance. Whai is Baelor allowed to climb the settees and I am not? Ah itll be lovely if you liiv us alon more ofan he helps me do da tings he does._

"What's this?" Baelor asked. "Who wrote this? It must be very old, it's so yellow and faded."

Daeron smiled again, the wicked sparkle in his eyes still dancing. "You did," he said. "That was the limit of your writing abilities when you were five."

For a moment, Baelor looked unsure whether he was being jested with. "You mean that I started off like this and now I can write a decent letter that people can _understand_?" he asked and when his father nodded, he laughed. "That's quite the progress!" he said. "What was this anyway? If I could write this half-coherently, I must have been old enough to express those sentiments in an articulate way."

"You were," Daeron confirmed. "But Maekar was not yet a year old. He had just started becoming interesting to you. You were trying to help his new nursemaid. Poor girl was scared out of her wits that your mother would send her away, he was rejecting her so hard. Pity that she couldn't read."

Baelor laughed again, remembering that once his brother had started making sentences, he had made the same claim Baelor had ascribed to him – that being alone with Baelor was a good thing because he helped him do grown up things. Yes, there had been times when Maekar had been amusing, even if it had been unintentionally.

"Aemon is quite gifted indeed," he said softly a while later, trying to remember when his own sons had started crafting coherent written texts. They had been six or eight year old. At least that. "And he's a very nice boy."

That was exactly the wrong thing to say since his father's face closed. Baelor had long suspected that out of all Daeron's grandchildren, Aemon was his secret favourite – the first who was born after the blood and madness of Daemon's rebellion, the one who was most like him. Once again, his hatred for Daemon rose. It felt weird because he had not hated him even as he warred with him. Hatred had come much later when he had started realizing how hard the healing of the wounds the vainglorious fool had inflicted would be. When kindness had once been met with a stab in the back, it was almost impossible for the survivors to not entertain this ugly thought that ambitions and greed might take their toll once again.

"Are you well?" Daeron asked sharply. "You are terribly pale."

"Yes," Baelor lied. "Yes, I am."

He wasn't. He could see that sending the boy away would lead to more heartache and hostility within the family. Daemon had won in more than one way.

"Do you think I am right in doing this?" the King finally asked.

_It isn't up to me_, Baelor told himself. _I am not the one doing it. He has made his mind already. Whatever I say, it won't change his decision._ "Yes," he said because it was the truth.

But truth still tasted like ashes.


	3. Elaena

**Lots of chocolate to everyone who reviewed!**

A Dragon Expendable

_Elaena_

Summer had come, invigorating the land. The flowers in the Reach bloomed and the hard-packed snow of the North gave way to softer substance, still refreshing, but pleasant to the touch. The eagles in the Vale made slowly circles, attending the travellers who gave them looks of fear, for the mountains were so dizzying and changing that the huge birds looked too close for comfort. The stench of King's Landing grew and the harbour could not contain all the ships willing to come and sell their goods. The season was a good one for whores, as well. The entire city was rejoicing.

In the heart of the Red Keep, the Stranger waited.

It was a matter of weeks, days maybe. The Queen grew fainter by the hour, wasted away by the consumption that had taken hold over her entire body. Her face was yellowish, her cheekbones sharply edged. It didn't look like there was anything under her skin but her mind – and the bright eyes. But even they were not clear. There was almost no white in them, just yellow. She rarely spoke when she didn't need to – taking breath brought too much pain.

She loved having visitors, though, and listening to them talking, so in the beginning, Daeron didn't pay any particular attention to the voice coming through the door. Only when he entered, he realized who it was.

"Elaena," he said. "When did you arrive?"

"A few hours ago," she replied. "I was getting bored at Penrose and since my only outlet was quarreling with my goodaughter, I decided to come here and quarrel with you instead." She indicated both of them. "At least you know I don't mean it. She's so serious that…" She shook her head.

Elaena was well into her fifties but it was just like her to make such an impulsive journey. And she looked none the worse for wear.

"So you decided to compensate by talking about me?" Daeron asked.

Her slight blush told him that his guess had hit the mark. No doubt Mariah had used the last remnants of her voice to complain about him. While they had reached an uneasy trust, he was well aware that she was still seeking ways to deter him in his decision about Aemon. He didn't truly mind – not because he thought she might succeed but because that gave her purpose. Something to live for.

"Please, keep talking," he invited. "I'm well aware that at the moment, I am not in Mariah's good graces."

"Just as well because you shouldn't be," his Queen said, her voice rasping. There was no heat there but the fierceness was clear. She was not going to yield or forgive. Sometimes, Daeron thought that his worst fear might no longer be the thought that she'd die but the very real possibility that she'd go to her death without forgiving him.

To his surprise and horror, Mariah then placed a hand under her cheek on the pillow and went to sleep. Just like that. Like a candle that had been extinguished. "Has she taken the milk of poppy?" he asked with faint hope.

Elaena shook her head

"No," she said, leaning over to cover the Queen better. He noticed that despite the paler streaks in her fair hair, the golden streak looked even brighter. Strange.

"You shouldn't be so close to her," he said.

She simply gave him a look of pity. "I was told that you still _slept_ next to her," she said.

"It's different," Daeron snapped, suddenly irate. He had had this conversation with the Grand Maester more than once. The man was terrified that Daeron might catch the consumption. In fact, Mariah had tried to chase him away as soon as her illness had been determined. "But if you want to end your life sooner than expected, then who am I to tell you what you should do?"

Elaena rose and nodded that they should go away from the bed. He followed.

"I didn't believe that she was truly so ill," she said softly. "I don't think I ever saw her in less than blooming health. Even her childbirths were easy."

"Maekar's wasn't," he replied and remembered that terrible day ,the waiting, the fear that she might actually die. It was strange but he had felt no concern about the babe. His love for his children had never started at birth but when they had been able to interact. With his grandchildren, it had been different, to his great surprise. Except for Aemon. He could swear that the moment they had shown him the newborn, still wet from his first bath, and not even an hour old, Aemon had seen and recognized him. He had been able to interact since his very birth.

"She complained of me, didn't she? She told you of my plans about Aemon."

Elaena poured wine for both of them. He wetted his lips but didn't swallow, It would be too easy to find peace and oblivion in the red liquid and then he might never be able to stop.

"Do you really have to?"

He bit his caustic remark back. Of course he had to! Otherwise, he wouldn't have. Not that he was sure that he was making the right call. He just had to do the best with the information he had at hand. And now, he had the chance to talk to someone who knew firsthand what it felt like to be discarded.

"I believe so. Do you think I'm wrong, Elaena?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know the boy all that well. It's possible that you're doing the right thing for the realm. I don't necessarily believe it's right for the boy. But I know Maekar well enough to tell you that you'll have problems from this corner."

"I can deal with Maekar," he said curtly. He did not cherish the idea but he could deal with his son, he did not doubt it.

Elaena gave him a suspicious look and murmured something that definitely had _Daemon_ in it but when he asked her to say it louder, she didn't do it.

"What about the rest of them?" she asked instead. "The boy has three brothers and don't forget Rhaegel's boy either. Are you going to send them all away?"

The words hung in the air between them. Of course Elaena would be the one to say things as they were. Send Aemon away. Daeron had avoided the words even in his mind. He preferred to think that he was sending Aemon _to_ something – a place that he'd like, knowledge that he cherished. But essentially, he was sending him away, no matter how he dressed it. There were many ways to send someone away, even if this _away_ was the heart of the Red Keep, a Court of Love…

"No," he said.

None of them had the inclination for learning that Aemon did. He would not force a life they disliked upon them and there weren't many options for removing them from the possible struggles in a peaceful way.

"He treasures knowledge," he said. "In the beginning, it'll be hard but he'll get used to his new life eventually. It's for the best"

"Where have I heard that?" she asked sarcastically.

The look Daeron gave her showed that he remembered where she had heard it as well. But she had been older than Aemon then! And she had never had the slightest inclination for a life of piety…

"Was it so bad?" he asked.

"It was terrible!"

It had been – for her, for Daena. Even Rhaena, in the beginning. Yet she had ended up living the life Baelor had chosen for her and even exceeded his expectations.

"Terrible," Elaena said again. "Losing my freedom. Losing my life, my friends. Feeling that I wasn't good enough."

She fell silent at the sight of the pain crossing his face. But he would not change his decision, she knew it. And her rational side knew that she could not blame him. Once again, she cursed Aegon for revealing Daemon's parentage. Without that, the boy would have never gotten it into his head to rebel. He might have been alive now. And Westeros might have been a vastly better place. She had mourned Daemon deeply – but his death had also been a relief.

"Are you trying to break him?" she asked with some curiosity.

Daeron gave her a look of horror. "No!"

"Good," she said. "Because we Targaryens don't take well to someone trying to break us. And the realm usually ends up paying for that. For Westeros' sake, I hope he's like Rhaena and not Daena and I."

"He is," Daeron said quickly but in his eyes, Elaena saw the brief flicker of haunting uncertainty.


End file.
